


Moth to a Flame: Chapter Nine

by gemini_cole



Series: HenryxPoppy [11]
Category: British Actor RPF, Henry Cavill - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemini_cole/pseuds/gemini_cole





	Moth to a Flame: Chapter Nine

Moth to a Flame

Chapter Nine

 

 

            The steady beeping of machines was the only noise in the room. For what felt like the millionth time, Poppy checked the numbers as she smoothed her thumb over the surgical tape holding the IV in place in Hannah’s hand. There hadn’t been any change. She knew enough to know that she didn’t know what each number meant, only that no change was good for the time being. Poppy kept telling herself it meant Hannah was healing. It had been three days. Three sleepless days of tears, panic, anxiety, making decisions she never thought she’d have to make, and waiting. The waiting was the worst part. Waiting for the diagnosis. Waiting to see if Hannah would make it through the surgery. And now, waiting for see if she would recover. She’d been placed in a medically induced coma to help her brain heal from the trauma of both the impact of the accident, as well as the surgery that had followed. Dr. Carter, Hannah’s neurosurgeon, wanted to start bringing her out of the coma today, but that didn’t mean she would wake up.

            “No rush, Han, but I need you. Okay? I really do. Otherwise, I just look like a crazy person talking to herself. And I know you’ll say that I was one already, but humor me, okay? Please? All the doctors say that I should keep talking to you, but I’ve run out of things to say. I think I’m down to begging. You just can’t leave me. You can’t. You are my person, you know? You and me, we’re a team. I can’t do this on my own. I need you to wake up. And I don’t mean “this” as in work, for god’s sake. You know that. I mean life. You’re my partner in crime. I need you, please, to wake up and talk to me. Tell me I’m an idiot, that I look horrible, that my clothes are a mess. Tell me anything. Just wake up, ok?” Poppy stared down at her sister, her tears making wet splotches on the pristine white hospital sheets. She scrubbed her eyes tiredly. They felt like sandpaper. Suddenly a tall Starbucks cup slid into her free hand. She looked up to see Henry hovering over her.

            “Extra hot dirty chai.” He held up the other hand. In it was a familiar-looking bag, which after several seconds Poppy recognized as being one of hers. “Clothes and toiletries. You haven’t showered or changed in days, Poppy. Go take a shower.”

            Dumbly, Poppy stared at him for several seconds, before Henry gently took hold of her elbow and pulled her to a standing position. Putting the coffee cup on the tray next to them he gave Poppy a nudge towards the in-room bathroom.

            “But Hannah-“

            “Isn’t going anywhere. I’ll be right here with her. She’ll be fine for the 20 minutes it takes you to shower and change. Go, Poppy. You’ll feel a million times better when you’re done.”

            Poppy took the bag and took two steps towards the bathroom before stopping to turn around. Already Henry was sitting in her place next to the bed. It looked at the same time so natural and yet so unnatural to see him there, larger than life, gently holding Hannah’s hand much like Poppy had just done. Without even turning in her direction, Henry felt Poppy’s reluctance to move and waved his free hand, shooing her out of the room.

            She stripped out of her clothes and left them in a heap on the floor. As she waited for the water in the shower to heat up, she stared at them unblinkingly for several seconds before stooping to pick them up, folding them carefully, wondering how many times Hannah had done this for her. She didn’t even know how she had gotten them, or whose clothes they were. The last thing she remembered was being at work, that damn dress that needed fixing. _It should be me in that hospital bed_ , she thought to herself.

            The hot water cascaded over her body, working to soothe her tired muscles as Poppy scrubbed the shampoo out of her hair, her tears mingling with the hot water. She wished she could stop crying. This was hell, feeling so responsible, so helpless, so desperate, so, _this_. She just wanted _this_ to stop. Toweling herself off, she quickly pulled on the clothes Henry had brought. At least these, her favorite grey sweater, and a pair of jeans, she recognized. As she walked out of the bathroom, she quickly braided her hair, stopping short as a smell hit her nostrils. Suddenly, her stomach remembered food.

            Henry held up a take-out container, and motioned for her to sit down. He placed the Styrofoam tray in front of her, handing her a fork.

            “Eat.”

            “You didn’t have to do all of this. Thank you.”

            Henry stiffly shrugged his shoulders in response, going back to sit next to Hannah again.

            As she began shoveling food into her mouth she asked, “How are you feeling? How’s your shoulder?” Henry hadn’t been as injured as Hannah, whose head had hit the concrete floor. Luckily, he’d only had some nasty bruises, and a few cuts that had required stitches.

            Henry half shrugged again, before finally replying, “I get sore if I stay in one place for too long, or first thing in the morning. But otherwise, it’s fine. I’m sorry, Poppy.”

            Poppy looked at him confusedly as she closed the container, setting it aside. “For what?”

            “For not being able to protect Hannah. If I’d been paying closer attention, maybe I’d been able to get her out of the way completely.”

            Poppy sighed. “Henry, do you normally walk around on guard for falling lighting rigs?”

            “No.”

            “Well then, this is hardly your fault. I’m thankful you were there. Who knows, it might have been even worse.” She stood, placing her hand on Henry’s uninjured shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, for everything.”

            He peered up at her. “What do you mean?”

            She motioned to the bags. “Lunch, the clothes, the shower. Everything. You were right. I needed that.”

            Henry paused, then shrugged irritably. “Someone had to do it, since…”

            “Since what?”

            A loaded silence filled the room. Poppy tried again. “Since what, Henry?”

            He stood suddenly, the chair screeching in protest as it slid across the linoleum floor.  Towering over her he demanded, “Where is he, Poppy? Where is Ben? Why isn’t he here for you?”

            Poppy sighed, deflated. She moved to quietly push the chair back in its proper position. Sinking down into it as if she were being magnetically pulled, she muttered, “Don’t Henry. Please, not now. I just, I just can’t. Please.”

            Henry moved toward the door, yanking it open. There stood Ben, poised to knock. Henry looked contemptuously at him, sneering, “just in time. I know where I’m not wanted.”

           


End file.
